


They

by Control_Room



Series: Dear Brother [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bar fight not described, Confusion, Drunkenness, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I hated you anyways, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Screw you Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: Emotions and trust is tested, and Scott feels like he's ruining the hope there is. He'll never tell. He can't. It's too risky, he doesn't want to rock the boat and burn the little bit of bridge Mike and Blake have built.  And William knows he told. He shouldn't have left that recording where Mike and Dementia would hear it. He knows, and Scott knows it. Now... what's the point?





	1. The

Flug began choking on his soda, 5.0.5. pounding on his back to help, stars gleaming in Dementia’s eyes as her pizza slice hung in her hand limply, forgotten. Fritz threw his hands in the air, and yelled “Nope!” continuously while leaving the restaurant. Jeremey, still wearing his bunny ears, gasped audibly, hands going to his mouth. Vincent and Scott stopped having whatever style conversation they had been having (Vincent picked up then put down Scott’s ringing phone). Black Hat was frozen firm in place, chest rising and falling irregularly. Mike stalked forward, walking around his brother until the two were directly across from each other, with the security guard peering into the eyes of the super villain. Mike tilted his head, his whole body an embodiment of anger.

 

“Cat got your tongue, Blake?” he snarled, eye twitching, grin dangerous. “I’m not thinking very straight right now anyways, after all, bear got my brain, didn’t he? You were there when it happened, weren’t you?”

 

“Mike…” Black Hat, or apparently, Blake, struggled to swallow. “What…? Why…? How? Oh, no… you’re not still mad at me, are you?” A nervous laugh escaped his throat. “Right? It… it was just a prank, you know, just a little joke…?”

 

“SHUT THE H*** UP!” Mike barked, glaring at the slightly taller man with pure raging fury. He exhaled heavily, eyebrows forming sharp ‘v’s. “I spent  _ seven years _ in a hospital with my brain cells trying to figure out what happened, with me barely being able to wrap my head around it, or anything for that matter! And when I so called ‘recovered’, I kept finding myself gravitating to this d***ed place! The only good thing that happened to me nearly ever, especially from this situation, was my friends, who were there for me,” he punctuated his next remark with a jab to Black Hat’s chest, “when you WEREN’T!”

 

“Look, Mikey,” he soothed, trying to get a word across, not at all noticing the furiously angered tinge that spread on Mike’s coworkers’ cheeks, on Jeremy’s, Scott’s, and Vincent’s, all of them mad on their friend’s behalf, how dare this  _ interloper _ talk to Mike like that, like he was his friend!? Did he hold him tight when he wept, crying because he was, take his shifts when he broke down, despite the trauma, comfort him during his nightmares, forcing theirs away in the deepest pits of their minds?! No, he did not! “I’m sorry. What happened here was my fault, but can’t you just forgive and forget? It was literally was twenty years ago! And you healed, right, didn’t you? Everything is  _ fine _ , see? Fate just brought us back together after we went our separate ways!”

 

“Everything is fine? Twenty years ago?! I HEALED?! OUR  _ SEPARATE  _ **_WAYS?!_ ** **_FATE?!_ ** ” Mike roared, suddenly much, much bigger than he seemed a moment ago, towering over Black Hat, who cowered beneath the lion of emotion. Scott and Vincent quickly ushered everyone out of the crammed pizzeria, giving them all raincheck slips, apologizing for the inconvenience, slamming off the open sign. They didn’t want to risk Mike losing his job. Black Hat, who hadn’t seen his brother since he was thirteen, never met this angry, forceful, bitter and powerful version of his meek, intimidated, and sorrowful once seven year old brother. “FATE is when I get out of the hospital, shaking in fear that you’d be home, but apparently you left while I was still healing, because you didn’t want to go to school! FATE is when Dad was killed in the line of Duty, and his fifteen year old son has to comfort his mother, alone! FATE is when I had to take care of Mom while she was losing her mind from worry and sadness! FATE is when on your eighteenth birthday, your mom kills herself leaving you a note that you can take care of yourself, dying thinking that I’ll be fine! I WASN’T! But,  _ that _ is FATE! This… this meeting,” he slowly shook his head, slowly turning away from his brother, “isn’t fate. It’s chance. Nothing more. A gamble on the universe.”

 

Mike turned away, his whole body trembling. Vincent came up to him with a hug, glaring at Blake. Mike sighed into the gently touch before shrugging out of his friend’s embrace. Jeremy rushed over to him, putting his hands on his shoulders, a pleading look on his expression.

 

“Whoa, Mike, calm down a moment,” he essentially begged. Mike guiltily looked away. “Can’t you two talk it out? Like… like brothers? Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? For me?”

 

“God d*** it, Jeremy,” Mike glowered, glaring at his smaller friend with fondness. He truly wanted to say no, he wanted to say no so badly, but what would that do to Jeremy? And Mike, in the long run? He groaned. “What do you want us to do? Because unless I’m told, I’m not going to do anything at all with HIM.”

 

“How ‘bout a club night or two?” Vincent suggested, not noticing Scott flinch beside him. “Something late and out of work. A dance club maybe would be best.”

 

“If you’re going to any sort of club,” Scott interjected suddenly. “Then you’d better go tonight, since I’ve got the ‘shift’, and the last place I’d like to go to is a dance club. Bad things happen to me at clubs.”

 

“Ha!” Fritz exclaimed, striding in from the door. “What bad thing could happen at any kind of club? What makes you say that Scottie Boy?”

 

Scott suddenly seemed uncomfortable, holding the back of his neck, looking at his shoes pointedly, a light blush spread over his cheeks, and mumbling something about things going wrong when you least expect them to or want them to. Vincent glanced at him and came to his crush’s rescue.

 

“Anything can happen,” he said quickly. “Wasn’t there an anti ( s  )-worker’s shooting at a bar just about two weeks ago? That was unexpected, especially because of the shooters. I think that they were the girls’ bosses or something.You really can’t tell.”

 

“I guess that you’re right,” Mike replied with a shrug, although skepticism was oozing from Fritz’s aura. Jeremy looked out the window for a moment, eye caught by a butterfly or something. Scott deflated with relief, noticed only by Vincent who felt his heart flutter for doing something right for once. Flug, Dementia, and 5.0.5., who had all remained silent throughout the whole ordeal, all looked to Black Hat in anticipation. “Anyone else have something to say?”

 

“There’s a nice dance and bar club I know,” Flug meekly said. “It’s called ‘The Rouge Scarf’. I go there if I ever have the time.” He quickly glanced at his boss. “Which isn’t very often, if I’m being completely honest with you.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve been there once or twice,” Dementia added, then giggled. “I think that their Piña Coladas were spiked though.”

 

“It is a nice defuse place,” Fritz agreed with a nod. “I’ve gone there a few times myself.”

 

“Alright,” Mike sighed, then scowled towards his older brother. “Fine. Tonight at the Rouge Scarf. I don’t care if you all come or don’t come, but if you,” he pointed with angered aggression toward Black Hat, “don’t,” he jammed his finger into Blake’s chest, causing him to flinch back, “I swear, honest to G-d, that I will never,  _ ever _ speak, acknowledge, or listen to you EVER again.”

 

And he left without another word, making the room seem very, very, extraordinarily cold, as though the only source of warmth was Mike’s overwhelming rage. Black Hat forlornly looked at the general area his brother stood, eyes flicking to the stage, at the d***ing brown singing bear, that even as it smiled and sang, seemed to seep hatred from his golden brown eyes. After a moment, Dr. Flug came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He lowered his head tiredly, and they walked out of the pizzeria together, Dementia following quietly for once, with 5.0.5. making a last minute glance at the animatronics on the stage. Jeremy quickly dashed past the villainous group, Fritz huffing behind him in tow, to get to Mike and mother hen him. It ended with just Scott and Vincent, who together went into the kitchen for a miniature lunch-dinner. The hours ticked away, Vincent leaning against Scott in one of the booths, talking about the future and how much he’d love Scott to be in the future together with him, as the phone masked man sat reading Agatha Christie, secretly listening and appreciating the kind words of the purple man.

 

Soon it was dark. D*** very dark, actually, nearly eleven thirty-eight. Scott closed his novel with a sigh, and Purple got up slowly, extending a hand to help his coworker up. He gratefully took it, and Vin’s stomach tied into a knot with flurries as their hands brushed together, even though the taller man’s were covered in bandages. It made him picture Scott’s beautiful maroon red hair he always hid under a mask, his amazing golden brown eyes that he used to get lost in. His heart was pounding. He and Scott exchanged a glance, a meaningful farewell. He forced himself to the exit, heart feeling as though it may burst out of him, while Scott made his way to the back office, his heart slowly sinking with dread for the night. Vincent, one foot out the door and hand on the bar, sighed and cursed himself, looking back at Phone Guy. 

 

“F*** me,” he muttered, hand leaving the door. He dashed around to face Scott and wrapped an arm around him, using the other to swiftly type in the access pass on his mask, lifting it. He knew that Scott’s lips were torn, but he didn’t care as he gently, more gently that he’d been in his life, kissed him on one of the scars on his cheek, right next to his lips. He moved closer to his ear whispering against it, “Good luck.”

 

Blushing furiously like a schoolgirl, Vincent ran out, too quickly to notice the shudder that ran though Scott. The tall dark skinned man touched a hand to his cheek, before blushing and readjusting his phone mask and making his way to the back. He sighed as he sat down, starting up the generator he bought after… the incident and sealed the doors shut. He swiveled the chair and glanced at the tablet, it was Thursday… they’d be crazy, but it didn’t matter. He’d be fine. His eye suddenly rested on the phone. A smile flitted across his covered face. Vincent’s words flashed in his mind, and he huffed a quick chuckle and scooted to it, hitting “rec”.

 

“Hello, hello? Vincent wanted me to record him something for tonight so I guess I’ll get to doing that now…”


	2. Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw; drunkenness, suicide mention

 “Hold still, Mikey,” Jeremy fussed, trying to pick the lint off his buddy’s jacket. “I can’t believe that you managed to get lint all over a leather jacket. It’s leather for God’s sake. There is no lint. Why did you put this in the sweater closet anyway? We have a closet for fall and winter coats, they don’t have lint. Why didn’t you put this thing in there? It’s the same thing with ties. Why can’t you tie one? You’re twenty seven. It’s like tying shoes.”

 

 “I can tie a tie,” Mike sniffed wryly, smiling an itsy bitsy smile. Jeremy looked at him with an unimpressed expression raising an eyebrow, a silent reminder of a month ago, when a tipsy Mike Schmidt was crying on a half asleep Jeremy Fitzgerald’s shoulder about not knowing how to tie a bow tie. “I just can’t untie it, I tie it into a knot.”

 

 “Oh, alright,” Jeremy sighed, preferring to just end the conversation there and then because he knew Mike would just argue his head off. He dusted off a last bit of lint, straightened the jacket, and appreciatively glanced over the outfit he chose for Mike. He fixed the jacket onto his shoulders. He smiled. “You doing alright there, Michael?”

 

 “Uh… yeah, I suppose,” he mused, a snort escaping. Man, real emotions are great. “Just a bit nervous, ya know. Haven’t seen my brother in twenty years type anxiety. And then he literally comes waltzing into my life again in the same place? It’s just….”

 

 “Weird?” Fritz offered, looking over the top of his book. Mike nodded. The atmosphere of the room quieted until they heard the front door click shut. A moment later, the door opened into the boys’ room, the one they all share,d and Vincent strode in, hopping onto his top bunk. Even with their combined salaries, they could all only afford a one bedroom, and bought three bunkbeds for the six, I mean, five of them. Their last roommate had gotten a side job of home breaking for the government and himself for a few months, his bed empty but with a promise of return. The arrangement was as follows: Vincent’s bed was above Scott’s; Fritz was above Mike; and Jeremy slept under Edward’s empty bunk. Vincent scowled down at them, a rare sight as he usually wore a smirk or a smile, in a generally cheery mood. Jeremy stared back in surprise, his regular holographic question marks  exclamation points. They quickly turned into interrobangs. Fritz closed his book and put it in his lap. “Are you ok, Vin? You seem… hm, a little upset? Dejected? Forlorn? You’re usually more… chipper.”

 

 “I’ll chip you, Smith, you and your nerdy mind,” Vincent emptily threatened. Then he shrugged, pushing himself up onto his pillow, then barrel rolling over so his face was deeply planted in its fluff. A muffled, “I’ve never been better in my whole d*** life.”

 

 “Alright Vinny,” Mike chuckled, rolling his grey brown eyes and folding his arms, earning a irritated and disappointed cluck from Jeremy for messing up his jacket yet  again. “What happened between you and Scott? Don’t think we didn’t notice that you were gone for the past eight hours. The Rouge Scarf opens in a half hour.”

 

 “Nothing,” he blurted, swinging into a sitting position, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. He swooped downward, snatching Scott’s pillow and hugging it to his chest. He seemed to curl inward in an upset thought. “I definitely didn’t do something incredibly stupid that might’ve ruined everything even more. Definitely not that.”

 

 “Purple… I think you should tell us what really happened,” Jeremy said softly, pulling himself onto his friend’s bed, sitting down next to him, their height difference even more apparent than usual, Vincent a full head above him. “I know that Scott is hard on the outside, but I’m pretty sure that he just… was hurt before. Don’t you ever notice how he never talks about previous relationships? He just needs a bit of time, whatever happened wasn’t either of your faults.”

 

 “NO!” Vincent burst, making Jeremy flinch back for a moment. “It wasmy fault though, I did something dumb that I shouldn’t’ve and now I’m worried about what’s going to happen later!”

 

 He slapped a hand over his mouth and began shaking, tears forming rapidly in his eyes.

 

 “Look at me,” he laughed, voice trembling. “I’m worried about the consequences of my actions. That’s a f-first, am I right? It’s like… like I, I wasn’t thinking, thinkin’ about what I w-was doing… heh, I… I, I….”

 

 “Sh, sh, it’s okay Vin, you did nothing wrong, it’s alright,” Jeremy soothed him, rubbing calming circles in his back. Unbeknownst to him, Fritz and Mike also loosened up, breathing slower and calmer. (He just had that kind of voice. You know, that voice? The one that they put in those documentaries? The one you listen to to help fall asleep? Thatvoice? Yeah.) The purple man’s shakes turned into shudders, which smoothed into shivers. His sobs shifted into hiccups. “There now. That’s better. Do you want to say what happened, or do you want to just breathe? Your choice.”

 

 “I… I want to talk about it,” Vincent nearly whispered. Fritz discreetly took out his phone and texted Flug that they might be late. He replied with a ‘lol same :D’. Fritz suspected it may have been a silent plea for help. “I was literally one foot out the door, I should’ve left and gone. But… but I didn’t, I went back inside… I lifted his mask….”

 

 “That’s not that bad,” Mike said, even as the red alarm of panic whirled in his head. “He can’t be that mad for ju-”

 

 “And I kissed him.”

 

 The room fell silent. It felt like the air from the room had suddenly been suctioned out, the warmth sapped from the dry area, as though the senses of security and power to fix the situation ripped from their grasps.

 

 Suddenly a light tinkling laugh filled the void, Jeremy, ever the optimist, found something to smile upon.

 

 “That’s okay!” he pulled Vincent closer, wrapping him in a one armed hug. The others stared at him. “Knowing you, you didn’t kiss him on the lips- you’re a lot less brazen than you make yourself out to be, and you’re a romantic- you probably said something nice or cute along with it, and Scott? He probably doesn’t mind. He may have even liked it.”

 

“Did you ever notice how Jeremy knows us a lot better than it seems?” Fritz whispered to Mike. He shook his head. “Me neither.”

 

 “Anyways, he’ll get over it,” Mike added with a shrug and a prayer. Vincent perked up slightly, Fritz giving him a quick glance. “It’s not like you attacked him or ruined a specific cup of his.”

 

 They all took a moment to shudder in memory of the time Eggs almost smashed Phone Guy’s favorite mug. He was barely able to move the next day after being tackled so roughly. No one knew why he was so attached to it, but they knew not to mess with it.

 

 “You sure he’s not gonna be mad?” Vincent asked softly, playing with his long hair. He looked slightly sad and susceptible, in desperate need of reassurance. “I’m kinda really very worried he is… you sure he’s not?”

 

 “Yes,” he replied confidently.

 

 “Definitely,” Fritz continued with a smile.

 

 “Absolutely,” Jeremy finished, grinning and giving him a final hug before sliding off the bunk. “Now, should we head off? It’s 12:16, we’re already late.”

 

 “Yeah, let’s go,” Fritz agreed, glancing at his watch. “But something tells me that they’re gonna be later than us.”

 

 Something.

 

 Flug stood very d*** still in his lab. Underneath his paper bag mask, he was the very image of beauty. And anger. That too. Did I mention his lab was on fire? Well. Now you know. And so did everyone else in Black Hat Inc. After all, they all were in the lab. It had started with the evil scientist deciding that now was the perfect time to test his auto outfitter.

 

 It had worked perfectly when he stepped through, his lab coat and slacks transformed into a jean and tee shirt combo. He grinned at himself in the mirror, even though he couldn’t see it. Moments later, Dementia was dressed in a short green dress with torn jeggings. Even 5.0.5. was wearing a nice tuxedo tee. It was Blake who seemed to have a problem getting an outfit. He kept using the device far after it had begun smoking, and when it blew up, he claimed that it was faulty. A few seconds later, he got a text from Fritz reading that they might be late. A rough chuckle escaped his throat even as angry tears filled his eyes while he typed a response. Black Hat yelled to Flug from the other end of the lab where he landed after the explosion that “Something is broken with his ‘dressy thingy’.” That set Dr. Flug off on a rampage, fuming and explaining sharply to a vacuous Black Hat how it was his fault, not Flug’s, that it exploded. Even after this lengthy tirade of elucidation Black Hat simply said:

 

 “So it’s your fault?”

 

 And Flug lunged at him with supreme anger, hands outstretched, ready to throttle his boss. Dementia joined into the fray with a wild fervor and maniacal laughter, the poor blue bear left out of the insanity, so of course he had to barge in and sit on Black Hat and Dementia to keep them from moving.

 

 And so Flug stood, still, in his lab, breathing heavily. 5.0.5. tilted his head a bit, and the mad doctor’s anger abated. He took a deep breath, and slowly let it out. And another one. He felt calmer now, relaxed. He rolled his tense shoulders, and the bear hopped off the other two villains.

 

 “That was fun!” Dementia giggled girlishly, and Flug rolled his eyes even as a huff of laughter escaped him. She rubbed the giant blue flowerbearing bear’s stomach, making him laugh as well. “Wasn’t it, ya goof? Yes it was! Yepper doodles!”

 

“Here we go again,” Black Hat let out his own evil chuckle. He extended a hand toward Dr. Flug. “No harm done, correct, Doctor?”

 

 “Of course sir,” he replied beaming, taking his boss’s hand and shaking it. Blake grinned, and tried to take his hand out of Flug’s suddenly vice like grip. His eyes narrowed as he tightened his hand more. Black Hat’s eyebrows raised in alarm, and he could practically see Flug grinning manically under the mask. “Joy buzzer.”

 

 The jolt that ran though his arm still surprised him, even though he was expecting it. After the initial wave of shock  (in more ways than one), a fit of giggles burst from him. It felt good to have a team of competent supervillains that didn’t mind putting him in his place every so often. It was, if he was being honest, grounding in a way. And they knew that no matter what happened, it would be hard to actually hate each other. They were a mismatched family, and sometimes that’s the best kind there is. Family… wow, did their mom really kill herself? The thought alone made his stomach churn, happiness whipped clean out of his system. She was such a strong, independant woman, so much so that Blake had almost thought her immortal… and yet she was killed by her own hand? It sounded so absurd, yet the absurdity made it seem more real. And their father killed in the line of duty? It was a harsh realization, as years ago, he received a letter from the Army. He had thrown it away, not understanding why it was sent to him. Had Mike read it before their mother? Did he try to hide it? Or was it the exact opposite? His eyes aimlessly wandered over the lab. They came to rest on one of the inventions, it just seemed like a small paper bag, but Black Hat knew it had the potential to be anything if Flug put his heart to it. A lizard in a cage, deftly climbing the glass walls brought his mind to Dementia, the insane but secretly caring girl, who he learned to accept for who she is, an amazing person. A tiny potted flower, the same as 5.0.5.’s, was sitting on the window sill, a bright spot in the bleak night sky, just like the bear himself. It was good to have a family, but now is the time to fix the broken half of his, and he was ready. Nervous, yes, but ready.

 

 With a snap of his fingers, the ash and smoke vanished from the team, and he smiled. Without saying a single word, the group trooped out to the car, where Cam-bot was waiting. They all got in, and strapped in for one h*** of a night.

 

 Black Hat stepped out of the limo, taking in a breath of the crisp and arid night air. It was a good time for a few drinks and some dancing. Flug and Dementia followed him out of the car and into the cool midnight. Even though they were half a block away from the club, they could still hear the pounding music. Dementia chuckled, doing a small spin with her quick step, eager to join the party. Flug laughed and caught up to her, 5.0.5. right by their heels. Black Hat grinned to himself, as his team’s joviality was contagious, before hurrying after them himself. As they neared the bar, they heard more laughter coming around the bend. The group of four security guards, dressed casually, turned the corner, Vincent giving a headlocked Jeremy a nuggie, guffawing while yelling a joking “Submit, little mortal!”

 

 “N-never!” Jeremy gasped, before cracking up and bursting into laughter. “Help! AHHHAHAHAAH! Fritz - HAHAHAH! HELP ME! AHHAHHA!”

 

 “I’ll save you!” Fritz “heroically” volunteered, lifting Vincent above his head and taking off running with him hauled in the air. His eyes widened when he realized his momentum was too great to stop before crashing into Dementia. “LOOK OUT!”

 

 But it was no use. He, while trying to skid to a halt, rammed into the pink haired gal, Vincent flying into Flug’s chest, forcing him to fall, tripping the half jogging Black Hat, and Jeremy, who had been running to catch up, slipped in a puddle fell on top of all of them. 5.0.5., being sweet and naïve, flopped down with them, leaving Mike as the only one standing. His face was blank at first, but he chuckled, then giggled, then laughed so hard his sides hurt. They all got up and got into the bar, at first being halted for 5.0.5.’s non-humanity, but security begrudgingly and fearfully let him in after Flug held up a gun.

 

 Practically the moment they walked in, all eyes were on them. A few of the girls did double takes before heading over to Fritz, who was easily flustered by the attention, before finding he was enjoying it, so he took one of the gals to the dancefloor. Jeremy and 5.0.5. went to the bar stools, getting ice cream. Dementia spotted a few good looking guys and girls, and tore down to ask if they’d like to dance with her, dragging Flug along to meet someone he might like.

 

 “Is she bi?” Mike asked Blake as they slid in by a table. “Dementia, I mean.”

 

 “Hm? Oh, yeah,” he laughed. “Bi as all h***. And that purple one,” he nodded his head toward Vincent, who was hanging out with Fritz, “what’s his name? He’s gay, right?”

 

 “Vincent is the gayest of all the gay gays,” his brother very seriously informed him, before breaking out into a grin. “But he’s got his eyes set on Scott and Scott only. He absolutely adores him, practically idolizing him.”

 

 “Flug told me you all live together,” Black Hat said smoothly, waving down a waitress. “If Vincent has an attraction to Scott, doesn’t that pose a problem?”

 

 “Not really,” Mike chuckled, then blushed. Vincent waded through the dance floor to get to the two, folding his arms and propping himself up on Mike’s head. “But, uh, there have been… very awkward moments pertaining to… um, short lapses of reason.”

 

 “Like the time you and Fritz got the nightshift off, and were alone in the apartment since Scott and I took the shift and Jeremy went to visit his uncle?” he asked, lazily grinning down at his red faced friend. “And you two got smashed an-”

 

 “That’s enough, Vince,” he coughed, blushing redder than a tomato. “Just stop. Now.”

 

 “Alright,” Vincent rolled his eyes, then giggled. Then he began humming. “Mike and Fritz, sitting at home drunk, f- u-”

 

 “That’s enough!” Mike exclaimed, his ever present security guard cap reading ‘he’s in for it’, then he wrapped his arms around Purple, and flipped him onto the bar table. They were face to upside down face. “Stop. Right here, right now.”

 

 “c-” he continued, smirking like the the devil at  the mortified Mike. Blake was forcing himself with all his willpower not to grin, and failing. “Should I finish or do you get the point?”

 

 “Oh. My. Dear. Frikin’. Lord.” Mike growled, then shoved him off the table onto the floor. “How I put up with you, I’ll never know.” He glanced at his brother, who looked like he ate a lemon. “What’s up with you?”

 

 “Nothing,” Black Hat huffed, forcing himself not to laugh. He broke, and began howling with mirth. “It’s just that that was hilarious! You’re makin’ me proud, lil’ bro.”

 

 “Don’t call me that.”

 

 It was spoken sharp and harsh, no sugar coat hiding anything. Mike, after meeting his brother’s eyes, changed his focus onto a stain on the wooden table, upset. Blake extended a hand, but drew it back, and with a groan, leaned back.

 

 “This isn't working, is it?” he mumbled, finally getting the waitress to them, asking for a scotch, Mike a chardonnay. “I can’t help thinking of you like a friend that I accidentally cut ties with. Not a brother that I really hurt.”

 

 “And I can’t help thinking about you,” Mike paused and glanced toward Jeremy and 5.0.5., who were talking to a younger guy who looked miserable. Jeremy said something, and 5.0.5. patted the guy’s back. He seemed to cheer up, and Mike smiled sadly. “Like a stranger that knew once, but not anymore.”

 

 “Oh…?” Black Hat took a sip of his drink, savoring the burning sting as it ran down his throat. “And do you want to… reconnect, to rebuild our broken little family?”

 

“I hope,” he replied, noticing Fritz dancing with a pleasant looking girl. He grinned lightly. “Maybe our family doesn’t have to be so small. I have Vincent, Fritz, Jeremy, Eggs, and Scott. That’s my family. You have Flug, Dementia, and 5.0.5.. I think our family would actually be a pretty nice size.”

 

 “So it seems,” Blake, mused, then became somber, “but who’s Eggs?”

 

 “Oh!” Mike laughed for a moment, then took a swig of his wine. “I forgot that you didn’t meet he- him. He’s a home breaker - not like family ruiner, but breaking into homes for the government as well as for himself. It’s only a temporary shift though, he’s going to come home soon. He was the night guard at our sister location, but that shut down, so he’s waiting for his papers to be processed at our place.”

 

 “Wow, so he just breaks into homes?” he grinned. “I might have a few jobs for him.”

 

 “Oh no you don’t,” Mike jokingly warned. “I looked up your cooperation earlier, and man, believe me, that’s some crazy stuff. An anti gravity ball? That’s really cool!”

 

 “Flug would be glad to know you think so,” Blake said softly, stirring his drink, absent minded. “Hmm.”

 

 “Mhm.”

 

 “So…”

 

 “Yeah.”

 

 “I’m….”

 

 “What?”

 

 “Just thinking.”

 

 “About what?”

 

 “I dunno. Masks, I guess.”

 

 “Ah,” Mike nodded slowly, suddenly forlorn and removed. “I feel like everyone wears a mask. Like a façade, a shield.”

 

 “Flug wears a mask because it comforts him,” Black Hat sighed, glancing at the doctor and Dementia, neither of whom had found a partner, taking to dancing with each other. “Quells his anxiety. Soothes his fear. I was wondering… why does Scott wear one?”

 

 “Uhm… We….” Mike suddenly looked uncomfortable, but then He acquired a lost glaze on his eyes, and they flicked as though he was reading, brows furrowed and jaw tight but not clenched. “We don’t like talking about that. I was there… when we found him…. It’s not a good memory. I really wish it had never happened…. He didn’t deserve it.”

 

 “Deserve what?” Blake asked from the edge of his seat, suddenly far more curious than he had been five minutes before. “What happened?”

 

 “Springlock suits happened.”

 

 Black Hat suddenly remembered the crack that resounded when Mike’s skull was broken through, locking onto his frontal lobe. He tried to force the horrific memory from the front of his mind, but it seemed to be burned to his eyes.

 

 “Like, um, like what happened to you?” he immediately regretted asking, and grimaced. “Like what I did to you. You don't need to answer that. Sorry.”

 

 “Don't be,” Mike sighed with a wave of his hand. He stared at it for a moment, as though it was a strange sort of bug. “But yes. It was similar, but much worse. It's a wonder he didn't die of blood loss. He claimed that he cut off the circulation, but I don’t think that's enough for a week of bleeding out. Still, it's not my place to question.”

 

 “Who's place is it, then?” Black Hat asked, intregued. “It seems like more I ask about Scott, the less I know about him.”

 

 “Heh, that's because you're asking about what he has, not what he doesn't,” he chuckled, a strange knowing smile with twinkling eyes. “For example, he doesn't have any siblings, but has twelve cousins and a niecelet. Actually, he has one sibling. Oh man… can't forget ‘em!”

 

 Blake gave him an astonished and blank look.

 

 “You can meet all of them by Thanksgiving,” Mike continued, smirking lightly. “Consider this an invitation.”

 

 “Huh?” he mumbled dumbly. “Oh. Oh! Well, um, sure! Of course! Uh… when's Thanksgiving again?”

 

 “In a month and a little,” he replied, draining his drink, ordering another. “Oh, you'll love it!”

 

 “Alright, but what makes you so certain?” Blake asked, looking as uncertain as Mike appeared assured. “I hardly know you, let alone Scott’s family!”

 

 “If there's anything I know for certain about Scott and the whole Cawthon clan,” Mike giggled suddenly, causing Black Hat to start unexpectedly. “Is that they're all softies of the highest order. Like a new down pillow. Scott’s the hard boiled one of the family, and even he's a huge sweetheart.”

 

 “Really now? I seem to recall him friendzoning Vincent,in a somewhat harsh manner,” Black Hat grinned, swallowing a bit more of the fiery water. “What with that, eh? Why not give him a chance?”

 

 “That's not really important,” Mike said, but sent him a warning glare. “How about you? What did you do after running away?”

 

 “Not much, but after a while, I got sucked into the underground, not pretty, but hey, at least I could put my mangled Spanish to use, eh?” Blake admitted and Mike chucked. “I mean, sure, it wasn't all fun and games, and of course, I soon found myself between a rock and a hard place. I know what dad said about using our powers, but I couldn't help myself. Then I couldn't stop. I nearly destroyed an entire city. I found out that there were more people like me, villainous people. Dementia found me. I found Flug as he was making 5.0.5.. Ah, yes. We're the perfect, mismatched team.”

 

 “Hah! It's nice to know that we both have some sort of familia,” he snorted, kicking back and snatching a beer can and cracking it open. “Better than sticking together with no one and hating each other, am I right?”

 

 “Amen to that, brother,” Blake nodded solemn and slow, clicking their glasses together. “If only our mom could see us now. She’d be happy and proud. I wish she were still here.”

 

 “Yeah,” Mike sighed, looking into his can, then glancing off at Fritz, currently drunk, sashaying with seven different people. “How the h*** did we end up here in the first place. Honestly, I think Mom is watching anyways. She always said-”

 

 “A mother always knows,” Black Hat finished, polishing off his glass. “And we’d ask,”

 

 “Knows what?” he giggled again, reminiscent of all the small sentiments infringed on his memory. “And, and she’d answer ‘everything,’ and we’d all laugh. But… sometimes it still seems true, do you know the feeling.”

 

 It wasn’t a question. Blake and Mike both knew that. Even though they had been so cosmically different, they both were aware of the fact that their mother was omniscient. It just felt so natural. They both knew and had the feeling, and were acutely aware of the other knowing as well. Their mother just knew everything.

 

 “Yeah,” he said anyways, feeling quite sober suddenly. It was as though mentioning their mother made him a twelve year old again. His mood shifted just as quickly as before. He laughed aloud, semi startling Mike. “Yeah, she always seemed so mystic and s***. It was actually surprising to find out she wasn’t.”

 

 “Yes, exactly,” Mike crowed, laughing. “She was like, ‘you’ll marry a beautiful rich young girl,’ and when I asked what if I was gay, she said, ‘well, he’d be tall, dark, and handsome’!”

 

 “She told me the same thing!” Black Hat exclaimed with a slur, already back to his inebriated state. “It's so hard to disbelieve her, even now, after all these long years.”

 

 “She was unbelievable, but it was intoxicating to hear her,” Mike sighed, thinking about the incense she burnt at nearly all hours of life. She smoked, too, despite all the members of her family demanding and pleading her to stop. “Dad was the complete opposite, remember?”

 

 “Mhmm, he was quieter, and a pessimist,” Blake nodded and smiled. “Though he prefered ‘realist’, but we all knew better.”

 

 “Yep, and he was… surprisingly kind hearted,” Mike added with a shrug and a melancholic smile. “I guess neither of us got that bit of him.”

 

 “That's not true,” Blake defended. “You got that from him. You might not notice it, but you're really nice. H***, you're trying to reconnect with me, even knowing who I am and considering what I did to you. You got his kindness, don't deny it.”

 

 “Think so, Blakeney Hyman Schmidt?” Mike asked with a horrifically fake sneer that was poorly disguising his grin. His brother frowned. “I know you hate your full name, so-”

 

 “And you hate yours, too,” he cut in. Mike suddenly widened his eyes in dreaded anticipation. “Michael Julius Wester Schmidt.”

 

 “You're just as bad as Vincent,” Mike gasped, feigning horror and offense. “How could you?!”

 

 “Just like I could do this!”

 

 He poured the rest of his glass over Mike’s head. He stared at him sputtering. He then snapped out of it, dumping his beer can onto Black Hat’s suit, who gaped at him like a cod fish before stealing the bottle of wine from the people sitting behind them. And thus, the bar fight had been instigated, ending with Flug and Fritz dragging them all out and paying the huge bill (and the fines). The evil doctor glanced around the street corner, and realized with a sigh that cam-bot had returned home. Without them.

 

 “Uh, you all could come over to our place?” Fritz suggested, shifting a semi unconscious Mike against his shoulder, struggling to support both him and Jeremy, who was still sleeping. “It's not that big, but, it'll probably do for tonight.”

 

 “Hm, I guess,” Flug said with a bit of a slur, Black Hat leaning heavily on him, half snoring. 5.0.5. tiredly carried Dementia. “It would be safer than to walk all the way to the mansion…. Fine. I'll take you up on the offer.”

 

 Mansion? Fritz felt his mouth dry. What the heck would he think of their one bedroom, one half bath, apartment? Good God, how short was Mike’s stick compared to Blake’s? Nonetheless, he nodded, and started to lead the way home, pausing to glance at the clock on the main street. 3:42. Scott would be home around 9:30, since he'd be taking the first shift… he wouldn't mind if Dementia borrowed his bed, would he? Unfortunately for Fritz, they were at the little place they called home. He chewed the inside of his cheek to avoid looking at Flug as he coded them in. He took the lead up the stairs, barely able to balance Mike and Jeremy. Flug glanced around the empty hallway, taking into account the fact that his awake companion was pointedly keeping his gaze away even as he fumbled with the lock. He noticed the cracks in the wall, the unfinished paint job, and it hit him suddenly. They were as poor as H***. Why didn't Blake reach out to his brother earlier, or why didn't Mike ask for help? They stumbled into the miniscule kitchenette, and Flug registered the food stamps application sitting on the counter, amid anger crumpled bills and receipts. He sighed, following Fritz into the bedroom, waiting for him to make arrangements, watching as he carefully loaded Mike and Jeremy into their beds. Vincent, whom they hadn't noticed due to his lack of speech, hopped onto his bunk, falling asleep promptly.  5.0.5. plopped down, Dementia still sleeping on his stomach.

 

 “You can take Egg’s bed,” Fritz whispered to Flug, pointing at it. “He's out of town for a little, he won't mind. Blake can sleep in Scott’s bed.”

 

 The inventor numbly nodded, mind still reeling from the information. He helped get his boss into the empty bunk, then climbed up to his own. Fritz glanced around the room, sighed and mutely clamored into his bed, and gently clicked of the light.

 

 “G’night,” he mumbled.

 

 “G’night,” came the the in sync chorus of Vincent, Jeremy and Mike, much to Flug’s slowly shrinking surprise. They were tighter knit than he had thought.


	3. Entering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much anger. And a puppy.

  Scott groaned as he trudged up the steps to the apartment. He was tired, and he just wanted to sleep. He hadn't slept for twenty hours and a few more. Hours. His thoughts came in clunky drafts, none complete or making much sense, much like his shuffling and swaying steps. He ran a hand over his mask, and to his displeasure, he found a small crack in the Victorian style dial. He yawned, rolling his shoulders. He was so, so tired…. He paused by the door, hand on the knob, frozen. Something was wrong. He leaned in, pressing his mask where his ears would be against the door. Yelling? What… who was that even? Sounded like Mike, was it his brother? Scott furrowed his eyebrows. Why was he here? Oh well, it doesn't matter now, does it? He unlocked the door, opened it, and was promptly slammed in the face. Stumbling backwards, he fumbled to catch what hit him. A mug? He blinked and recognized it as his “favorite” one. Was that coffee dripping off the table? He looked up through the now giant chasm in his mask at everyone in the kitchen and disastrous miniature dining room who had all fallen silent.

 

 “Alright,” he said, walking in, closing the door and putting the cup on the counter. He swept his gaze over all the people in the small kitchenette, easily hiding the tiredness in his voice with years of practice. “I'll be right back in a moment, and you all better have a good story for why there's an argument that broke my mask.”

 

 “Sorry,” Mike mumbled, stepping out of Scott’s way to the bathroom. He pointedly avoided looking at the critical studying golden eye visible in the crack of the broken mask. It softened, and a smile peeked through. Scott flicked the top of Mike’s hat affectionately and continued on his way. Mike turned to Blake accusingly, then suddenly calmed. Ever since his emotions started feeling more emotive, he’d been extremely volatile. “I can’t believe that I got mad over a cup of coffee. Sorry man.”

 

 “Well, we all still have to explain this s*** to Scott,” Fritz grumbled, using a rag to clean up the mess of creamer and beans on the table. He glanced at Flug, who blankly sipped his coffee through a straw. “How did this happen, anyways?”

 

 “I’ll let them explain,” the doctor replied, tilting his head toward the Schmits. “Estúpidos idiotas, derramando todo y haciéndolo peor de lo que realmente es.”

 

 “Hey!” Mike and Blake’s heads snapped up. Dementia giggled, as did Jeremy. Blake looked at him, surprised. “You speak spanish?”

 

 “It’s my third language,” he answered proudly, then blushed. “I’m not very good though.”

 

 “Yes, our Jeremy is full of secret talents,” Fritz stated, then flashed an incredibly enchanting smile. “Like, did you know he’s a painter, you should see his his works sometime.”

 

 “Stop it Fritz, you’re embarrassing me,” Jeremy whined, pulling up his turtleneck sweater to cover his red face. “And speak for yourself, robo nerd.”

 

 Fritz’s smile vanished. A purple blur rushed into the room.

 

 “I WAS ARISEN BY THE SOUND OF MOCKERY,” Vincent yelled happily. “Are we making fun of Fritz’s awful attempts at reprogramming random appliances?!”

 

 The bathroom door clicked open behind him. Everyone stared at Scott, who had almost bumped into Purple.

 

 “What’re you all looking at?” Vin asked, confused, then turned around. His eyes widened when he saw Phone Guy, masked no more. In the corner of his eye, Vincent saw the broken mask in the trash. They stared at each other, Vincent a furious red and a blush creeping onto Scott’s now exposed face. “Um… h-hey Scott. Long time no see?”

 

 “Oh my God, you’re impossible,” Scott said, even as he tried to force himself not to smile. He winced, noticing the others were staring. D***, he had too many scars on his face… ugly ones, to top it off. It marred his appearance so badly- no, no, don’t think about it. You’re fine. You look fine. It’s ok. Alright, now to get to the bottom of the argument. He sat down in a position that he was able to see everyone, scanning each of their faces. Blake was the guilty party here. Huh, he thought it would be Mike. “My voice sounds weird, but that’s not important. Why did a cup get thrown in my face, Blake?”

 

 “How’d you know it was me?” Black Hat blurted before he could stop himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Whoops.”

 

 “You’re the only one that wouldn’t look me in the eye,” he focused on Fritz, who was about to speak. “Pun not intended.”

 

 Fritz closed his mouth.

 

 “Well… I had woken up first,” Blake began, still avoiding looking at Scott.  “And I had one H*** of a hangover, so I wanted to make coffee, but I had no clue where I was. After a while, I just got up and figured out that this place isn't so big. I was already halfway through making coffee when I noticed some papers on the counter. I kind of… read them. Mike came in as I was reading a bill statement, and we sort of spiraled out of control, waking everyone else up. I accidentally threw that mug in your face because it was in my hand.”

 

 “Okay… let get this straight,” Scott rubbed the bridge of his nose, briefly covering the wide scar that crossed it. “You were reading our bills, Mike came in and got mad at you, you two got into a fight, so you threw the mug… because you were holding it? Is that right?”

 

 “Yeah,” Blake murmured, then glanced at Mike. “I was mad because Mike never told me that he was in financial trouble. In retrospect, however, it’s perfectly reasonable that he didn’t. After all, I never even told you that I run a multi million dollar business.”

 

 “That still doesn’t explain the coffee… is that coffee? spill,” Scott cleared his throat, the criss crossed scars vibrating ever so slightly. It quickly removed attention from Black Hat, whom everyone was staring at. “Seriously, what the heck is that? Are those flakes of glitter in it? And is that macaroni?”

 

 “My bad,” Dementia giggled, but blushed under Phone Guy’s scrutinizing gaze. “I wanted to prank Flug,” she waved toward the bag headed doctor calmly sipping coffee out of a straw from the corner of the room, “But I accidentally bumped into Mike, but I didn’t spill it. He did.”

 

 All eyes turned to Fritz, who flushed in embarrassment.

 

 “Alright, alright, yes, I spilled it,” he rolled his eyes, looking quite comical because of the magnifying lenses. “But it was because I didn’t know it was a four year old princess’s dream liquid. It tasted like laughing rainbows and the worst nightmares had a abomination child.”

 

 “Ew,” Scott stated, grimacing and blunt, eye fixated on a soggy elbow macaroni that slid slimily off the table. He cringed, and rubbed his eyes, even going over the gaping socket where his left eye should’ve been, a habit left over from when it had been. “Can someoneplease clean that up?”

 

 Fritz nodded mutely, then continued to wipe up the glittering monstrosity. The room fell silent, and the only sound was the wind rustling the trees outside.

 

 “Scott?” Vincent said suddenly, breaking the silence. He was leaning forward, resting his head on his palm, staring at his open crush with half lidded eyes and a dopey smile. A red tinge crept onto Scott’s cheeks. “Did anyone ever tell you how handsome you are?”

 

 “W-what? Uh- Oh! Oh…” the usually red phone masked man stuttered, his dark skinned face a deep shade of red, almost matching the maroon color of his hair. Fritz and Mike exchanged quick glances. Scott bit his bottom lip where the tear was widest, then coughed lightly to clear his throat. “Um. You, uh, asked me that same question before… um, echm, the incident. I, I didn’t think you’d still find my appearance….”

 

 “Beautiful?” Vincent smiled, reaching over to tap on his still bandaged knuckles. “Amazing? Gorgeous? Just so… perfect?”

 

 “I’m not perfect,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away gently, then laughed suddenly. “No, I changed my mind. We’re all imperfectly perfect, and that’s perfect, you know?”

 

 Scott grinned at his purple friend, taking his turn and tapping Vin’s not bandaged knuckles briefly with a diliberate blink (which may have been a wink, you really couldn’t tell). Vincent’s smile faltered, and he blinked, trying to comprehend the anomaly of Scott… complimenting him? Scott; wonderful, stunning, perfectly imperfect Scott; telling him, a guilty, lying, accused childmurderer that he was perfect?

 

 A knock on the door. Everyone looked up at it, with Scott being the industrious one and getting up to open it. A short young woman with premature grey streaks stood in the doorway, albeit a bit awkwardly, holding up a golden retriever mix, it’s tongue hanging out happily, and floppy ears, well, being floppy. The little stump of a tail on the puppy began wagging wildly as the dog registered Scott.

 

 “Gretchen! Ah, thank you for bring ButterScotch over, I was about to pick her up myself, actually,” he laughed, showing no signs of his previous embarrassment and picking up ButterScotch from Gretchen’s arms. “I hope she wasn’t any trouble, was she?”

 

 “Not at all! No, she was just a little angel!” she cooed, scratching the puppy behind her ears. “But I came to also teach you how to take care of her new paw, alright?”

 

 Scott nodded and set ButterScotch down, and she playfully ran over to Vincent, licking his fingers. Jeremy too received excessive slobber, as did Mike, Fritz, Flug, Dementia, 5.0.5., and Black Hat. Blake noticed that her tail was shortened artificially and unprofessionally, that her right ear had a bit missing from the end, and her hind left paw was entirely missing, a prosthetic in its place. Gretchen left after a little bit, but quickly spoke with Scott before she did.

 

 “I see she’s helping with emotional support,” she told Scott with a tired smile. “Last time I saw you, you were still wearing that mask. I gotta go, but good luck.”

 

 “Thanks,” he replied sheepishly, waving goodbye. After he closed the door, he grinned as ButterScotch bounded over to him. He scooped her up and she excitedly licked his face. Vincent smiled wistfully as he gazed at the blissful scene.

“Ah, I missed you too, candy pupper. But look! You got a new foot! Wish I could get a new eye, but science has only gone so far! Haha!”

 

 “Yeah, about that,” Blake cut in quickly. “What happened to you two, anyways?”

 

 Dead silence.

 

 Even ButterScotch grew somber, but she nudged Scott with her nose, trying to cheer him up. He let a fleeting smile flick over his face, then sat down one of the wooden chairs.

 

 “Well, I found ButterScotch at a rescue hospital,” Scott began carefully, gently stroking the said puppy’s fur. She yipped contentedly, then yawned, resting her head on her paws. “Then, I had just gotten out of extensive care. One of the doctors suggested I find a therapy animal, or an injured pet that I could heal alongside. So I went, with only half a heart and no faith that I’d find the perfect pet. But I saw her immediately, and I fell in love instantly. I asked about her, and was told her previous owner was a butcher that would test his new knives on her. Oh, ButterScotch was so scared… it took time, but we built trust, and I’m proud to say she’s healed right next to me.”

 

 “But what happened to you?” Dementia pressed, eyes wide. “Like, you’re scarred to Europe and back! What could scar so systematically anyways, scar snitches like you, Scott. Really, i expected better from you. Did you really think I wouldn’t realize that you were on my case?! Did you, Scotty boy? Now you’re gonna realize why people don’t dig around me, and it’s gonnahurt. Imagine fifty knives being stabbed at you from all angles, all at once. Actually, you don't have to imagine it, cause it's going to happen anyways! Springlock goes snap, Scott’s heart line goes flat! Isn't that right, my little Phone Guy? Too bad whoever is gonna get those messages is gonna die before they can save you, or save themselves for that matter. Don't worry Scott, I'll make sure of it. Now, you sit tight there. It's going to be a long night, the longest last night you'll ever have. Sleep well. Dream your dream.”

 

 “NO!” Scott finally yelled, gasping, his voice snapping out of the tight constriction of his throat, and light suddenly flooded his vision. He was at home. His breathing was irregular and choppy. His cheeks were flushed and moist, tears still dripping down to the floor. His sight slowly became clear, and he was able to make out the relative shapes of his family. Vincent squeezed his hand gently with a sad smile. Scott knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he felt like he needed to ask it anyways. “What happened?”

 

 “You were under PTS,” Fritz sighed. Scott groaned, leaning his head back. “Maybe the second to worst one in a while.”

 

 “Everything hurts,” he complained bitterly. “Scale of one to ten how bad was it?”

 

 “Seven point five,” Mike nodded glum like. “And it was a stealthy one. We didn't even realize until ButterScotch started barking wildly. Um, if you want to talk about it, we can.”

 

 “Not this one,” he coughed, rubbing his left shoulder. “Too… worse.”

 

 “We're always here if you need us, Scott,” Jeremy calmly said, looking him in the eye. “You need to remember that more.”

 

 Scott sighed, “I know.”

 

 “I'm sorry,” Dementia apologized, “I didn't realize I'd trigger you. I myself know for a fact that PTSD is a one h*** of a b****.” ButterScotch barked, making her giggle and scratch the pup's head. “No offense.”

 

 “Hey guys…” a new, tight voice said, the owner of it walking in a moment later. “Hey,  guys, who the f*** are all these people?”

 

 “Eggs!” the other security guards exclaimed in unison. As Scott wiped his face down, making it look like he never was crying (Flug silently wondered how long it had been since he perfected the skill), Mike stood up and embraced the newcomer. “This is my brother, Blake, and his team of villains, Dementia, Dr. Flug, and 5.0.5.. They were staying overnight. How were the past two months?”

 

 “Bulls***,” he replied, but his voice was much higher than it was before. “The house the government wanted me to get into was my Dad’s neighbor, a bigot just like him. They teamed up against me.”

 

 “Oh no,” Jeremy shook his head sadly. “That sucks, man. I wish he could just accept you for who you are. I’m sorry.”

 

 “And it’s that time of month,” Eggs groaned, sniffing and rubbing his eyes, upset. “He kept on calling me ‘my girl’, and kept saying, ‘what kind of man are you?’ and… it hurt a lot more than I thought it would.”

 

 “Aw, Eddie,” Scott got up and gave the man a quick hug before heading into the kitchen. “I bet you want some chocola-”

 

 “I want murder,” Eggs growled, then collapsed into a chair.

 

 “Who do I need to kill?” Vincent asked venomously, raising a knife he got from… somewhere. Flug was about to laugh, until he saw the serious look in the purple one’s gaze. “I’ll get ‘em.”

 

 “No you won’t,” Fritz sternly told him, pulling the knife out of his grip. “Eggs, how’re you feeling? Did you take it off by bed and exercise?”

 

 “Before going to sleep yes, by exercising, no,” he admitted. His friends looked disapproving and slightly worried. “Look, my job was exercise. My Dad needs to realize I am a male.”

 

 “But if you get hurt because of it, not wearing one doesn’t make you a girl,” Jeremy reminded him softly. “If your dad doesn’t understand, we do, and Edward? You’re the manliest man. Best boy. Got it?”

 

“I’m the manliest man, the best boy,” he repeated, then smiled, but it was a sad grin, tears brimming in his eyes, then spilling over, and Dementia was surprised to see his five o’clock shadow smudging as the liquid ran through it. “Why don’t I feel like it?”

 

 “No, you’re the best,” Scott reaffirmed, returning from the kitchen and giving Eggs a chocolate bar and hugging him. In a flash, every one of the night guards were hugging Eggs, and 5.0.5. joined the group hug, dragging in Dementia and Flug. Blake rolled his eyes, but came into the hug anyways. “Who lifted two hundred pounds at his first time at the gym?”

 

 “Me,” Eggs sniffed, nibbling his chocolate bar.

 

 “Who ate thirteen hot dogs in a row without throwing up?” Fritz asked.

 

 “I did.”

 

 “Who managed to get a job in the all male section of the government?” was Jeremy’s question.

 

 “I got a job in an all male segment of the government,” Eggs replied, looking a bit proud.

 

 “Who won in a bar fight against a five hundred pound guy?” Mike smiled.

 

 “I hit him over the head with a chair!”

 

 “Who survived not only the night shift at the sister location, but also here?” Vincent questioned.

 

 “I’m the survivor king!” Eggs laughed, tears ebbing away.

 

 “Who passed so well I didn’t realize you were trans?” Dementia added.

 

 “I- I passed?!” Eggs was suddenly super excited. “Guys, guys, did you hear, I passed!”

 

 “Of course you did,” Scott grinned. “Best boy!”

 

 “Manliest man!” Jeremy giggled. “You’re more of a man than I am!”

 

 “Dementia is more of a man than you,” Vincent snarked, Mike sending him a death glare. He rolled his eyes and grinned.  “What? It's true.”

 

 “I don't care,” he shrugged. “At least I'm not like my sister.”

 

 “There's nothing wrong with your sister,” Fritz blinked owlishly at Jeremy. “Unless I'm not aware of it.”

 

 The security guards all just looked at Fritz, none of them amused in the slightest.

 

“Okay. New topic of conversation,” Blake announced hurriedly. All eyes turned towards him. “Who wants to go to the lake?”

 

“Sure,” Dementia and Eggs said and shrugged at the same time. “Jinx! Double jinx! Triple jinx! Quadruple jinx! Penta jinx!-”

 

 “While they continue their jinx standoff,” Mike cleared his throat, stretching and getting up to go to their room. “I think I'll gather up my stuff to go.”

 

 “Me too!” Vincent chimed in, hopping up and practically bouncing after Mike, Fritz rolling his eyes (again!? Fritz, calm those orbs down or they'll roll right out of your sockets and drive down the highway to Shanghai and back!) and following anyways.

 

 “You don't have to go in the water if you don't want to,” Scott whispered to Jeremy, quieter than Eggs and Dementia’s ongoing battle of the jinxes. “Remember, it's your choice.”

 

 The smaller man did not respond, so Scott awkwardly clapped him on the shoulder and got up to get his own stuff. He quickly made his way into the room, snatching a tee shirt and a pair of shorts as well as a change of clothing for himself as well as for Jeremy if he would make the decision to join them.

 

 In the car, it was both oddly spacious as well as seemingly cluttered. It was practically empty, as yes, it was a fifteen seater limousine, all ten of them comfortably on the long bench (even with 5.0.5. taking up six of the spots), yet the conversation was bustling like a farmer’s market on a busy sunday afternoon. The conversation was easily run mostly by Dementia and Mike, whose fiery personalities clashed brilliantly. Scott flashed Mike a warning glare, to which he responded by sticking out his tongue at him. Phone grinned, a devilish thing, and stuck his tongue out through the gap in his left cheek, successfully creeping everyone out. Blake stuck out his tongue, which was forked. Flug found this weird, but laughed anyways. Soon, they pulled up to the Sand Hollow Lake, and were led to the official Black Hat inc. boat, a medium sized thing, though Dr. Flug assured them it was much bigger than it appeared.

 

 And it was. Moments after they were all aboard, it expanded outward while flattening, making the floor space twice the original size. Fritz looked shocked and massively impressed, and told the inventor so. Flug blushed with pride, the pink barely making it’s way to the surface of his mask.

 

 Soon they came to a nice patch of blue water, and Flug stopped the flattened boat. Most of them decided on an order for each of them to change in, as there only was one bathroom on the little ship. Scott shrugged, shucked off his sweater and shoes, stuffing his socks into them, and wrapping the shoes in the wool. He slipped into the water soundlessly, only causing small ripples. Jeremy watched him, mute, but felt a pang of wistful nostalgia in his chest. He quickly stamped it down, and settled for sitting cross legged on the warm wooden deck. His jeans heated up in the sun, and Mike jumped into the water, splashing in beside Scott. Dementia cannon balled in, followed by Blake and Flug, 5.0.5. rolling in with a plunk. Eggs, make up removed, gave a shout of joy and practically flew into the water. Vincent suddenly surfaced near Scott, attempting to scare him. Scott was not scared, and Jeremy laughed as he threw the purple man about four feet. Fritz, diving in, soaked Jeremy with the waves, and left him giggling and sputtering. They soon took to passing a ball, yelling things like “catch it!” and “IN YOUR FACE, VINCENT!” That was mostly shouted by Mike, even when not hitting Vincent.

 

 Then, as per usual, just when things seemed perfect,filled with laughter and meaningless playful “anger”, things sailed south. Fritz threw the ball a little too high, and it went over the deck of the little yacht. Jeremy sprang up to catch it, and as he did, he tripped over the rail, falling head over heels into the wooden floor, skull making a hollow thud as it smacked against the side of the rail, rolling painfully into the water, disoriented. He was suddenly twelve again. He blinked, and inhaled. He, he, he he couldn't breathe! He reached up as he breathlessly screamed, one hand dry, the other pulled downward into the abyss. He choked again, vision flickering. Fading. Darkening. Frightening. Strong arms quickly wrapped around him, pulling him up and out of the tight, cold, and pressuring water.

 

 He coughed, liquid pouring from his lungs. He shook, his shoulders heaving and eyes shut tight. A towel wrapped around him, rubbing up and down, drying off the water and tears. The light hurt, the air stung, the tears ran wrathfully, and his head throbbed. Someone was hugging him tight, not saying anything or doing anything for that matter. Just whispering, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry….”

 

 “About what,” he finally managed to force past his unwilling lips, prying his eyes open to see Scott and Fritz, and Mike and Vincent, and everyone looking at him. He blushed, and realized Scott was the one hugging him. “Uh, Scott? You're breaking my ribs.”

 

 “Uh… sorry,” he pulled away, flushed with a lingering embarrassment. He retreated into himself, his emotions vanishing from his face. “It's just… never mind. It doesn't matter. Sorry.”

 

 “You alright there, Jerm?” Fritz asked, concern etched in his expression. “You gave us quite the scare.”

 

 “I'm fine,” he nodded, “just had a flashback. You know the one, when I was knocked off the the boat. Hitting my head probably set it off.”

 

 “Good thing Scott works well in these situations,” Mike sighed, lowering his head, distaste on his face. “We're all f***ed up, aren't we?”

 

 “That might be true,” Blake mumbled, wincing as interdimensional screams rang against his ears. “It probably is.”

 

 “Definitely,” Flug giggled nervously, rubbing his wrists. “We're most likely the most f***ed up people ever.”

 

 “Whaddya mean ‘most likely’,” Dementia asked rhetorically, over dramatizing the bunny ears. “We're the absolutely most f***ed up people on the face of this earth.”

 

 “And that's perfect,” Vincent echoed. “After all,” he glanced, a sideways flick towards Scott, a smile dancing on his lips. “We're all perfect.  Perfectly imperfect.”


	4. Yonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow down, it's too much, too many promises....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's best to read this before wanting to go to sleep. It is tiring.

Even though their swim had been cut off short, they decided to hang out at the reserve for a little while longer. Jeremy just laughed and waved away his friends' concern, saying nonchalantly that he was fine, and that absolutely nothing was wrong at all. Although most of the security guards knew he was lying, but also knew that he just… wanted some time and space. Mike duly noted that they all had different coping methods,each one reflecting something of their personalities. It was a quiet observation, but the more he thought about it, the odder and more reasonable it seemed. Fritz noticed his introspection and playfully togged his cap, startling him out of his thoughts. 

 

“Hey, what was that for?” Mike asked, readjusting his hat, but he was smiling as he rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone like messing with my hat?”

 

“Cause it's, like…” Dementia made a hand motion, attempting to signify what she meant. “Fun? It's like, right there, and kinda  **very** tempting, ya get me?”

 

“Agreed,” Scott hummed, chuckling slightly internally, Vincent staring at him openly with a dumb smile. Scott subtly put his hand on his, unnoticed by all but Jeremy. “It's just something that comes rather as a reflex than a choice.”

 

Whether he noticed it or not, his hand tightened on Vin’s, and the purple man blushed as he thought about it. He decided to ask Scott out, but before he could even get his mouth open, Fritz’s cell phone rang.

 

“It's William,” he said, without much thought. He was handing it over to Vincent when Scott snatched it. Fritz looked dumbfounded. “Phone, what, why?”

 

“No,” Scott snarled into the phone as soon as he answered the call. “That's final. Do you understand, Mr. Afton? Good, I'm glad we're at a credible median here. I refuse to let you _ near  _ them. This whole affair is between you and I, and if you dare, all bets are off.”

 

He hung up, positively fuming. His companions looked at him, concerned and wondering. They rarely saw Scott angry, and even less often seen him act upon his anger. He was more systematic, more calculative, and by far more patient than most of the world. So if he was mad at William, he either had a good reason or long fuse (probably both). He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back.

 

“I probably shouldn’t take the shift tonight,” he thought aloud, yet there was a hint of laughter in the tone, as though he knew he shouldn’t ever take the shift, yet inexplicably did so nearly every night, thrusting care to the wind, and hoping God will do him no injustice. “Mike, Dementia, and 5.0.5., you three are on the shift, Fritz, you will go with Blake as a bit of a collateral. I have business to attend to tonight. Vincent, make sure you are with Jeremy and Eggs at all times. Blake, Flug and Fritz, same goes for you. Understand?”

 

A chorus of “yep”s and “sure”s followed suit, only afterwards realizing. Scott critically scanned each of them, and nodded. 

“Quick question,” Flug butted into the silence. “What's going on, and since when are you in charge of this?”

 

“Since Mike’s frontal lobe was torn,” he replied, a tight and cautious smile flashing briefly. “As for ‘what's going on’, bad things. I hope that I'll be able to say the rest, but for now, it's best if the  _ five _ of us don't go missing. Then people wouldn't be framed.”

 

“Hey, hey, are you accusing my dad of the murder of the five kids?” Vincent asked incredulously, eyes wide. “I know I didn’t do it, but….”

 

“Not a word more on the subject, Purple,” Scott ordered. His mouth snapped shut. Scott sighed, tiredness prevalent on his features. “I know, Vin, as well as you. Hopefully I can wrap this up quickly and safely. However, it’s not the best time for you all to be around me. Go.”

 

The last word was not an order, but a plea. Jeremy narrowed his eyes, but nodded anyways, as though he understood the entirety of the situation but not the reasons behind it.

 

“C’mon guys,” he sighed, giving up his thoughts to  a futile battle, his question marks flickering in debate. “If Phone says it’s not safe, then it’s not. Better safe than sorry.”

 

“This feels like a story that the plot just gets more complicated with every turn,” Fritz said, giving you a look. You smile knowingly.

 

“Who are you… what the heck looking at Fritz?” Mike asked, looking in the same direction, confused at seeing nothing. “There’s literally nothing there, what the heck are you looking at?”

 

You giggle.

 

“Let’s go,” Flug muttered,rolling his eyes and heading in the direction of the car. “I can run some tests on him at the lab to see if he’s going crazy.”

 

“Ha, that’s a nice one,” Fritz chuckled, then realized it was not a joke. He broke off in a run after the doctor. “Wait a second ya mad b******….”

 

“Wait,” Dementia said, finally processing the fact that Phone volunteered her to do the dreaded night shift. “So I’m gonna be trapped in a room with him,” she gestured at the whole of Mike, “for about six hours, while six and a half foot tall animatronics try to murder us. Is that about right?”

 

“Yep,” Mike replied, then processed the situation himself.

 

“Wait, Scott, you can’t do this to me,” he and Dementia said practically in unison. Then they looked at each other as the Phone Guy looked on smugly.

 

“I hope you see my point of view clearly, as I'm sure you do,” he concluded. “Now, be off. Go and mentally prepare yourselves. You’re both probably going to need it.”

 

“If anything happens to either of them, I’ll have your head on a spit,” Black Hat threatened him vaguely yet menacingly. Scott looked non repulsed, in fact, he seemed to have found it rather amusing. “I don’t see what you find funny at all, Mr. Cawthon.”

 

“You’re just not the first person to tell me that,” he replied with a dark chuckle, then glanced behind Blake. “And you most definitely won’t be the last. The first time… let's just say someone else is also aiming for my skull. If you understand that the longer you stay around me the more danger you’re in, you'd better be off.”

 

“What do yo-” Blake began angrily, but was cut off by the sudden, terrifying, dreading, and damning feeling of eyes on the back of his head, and he swiveled around, seeing nothing. A bout of nervousness swarmed into his stomach and chest in a rapid flurry. He shrugged, trying to ignore the feeling, and clapped Mike on the shoulder. “Nevermind. Let’s go.”

 

Mike scanned Scott’s face carefully and expertly, trying to get any information from him, but all he could see was the passive mask he wore. At long last, he harrumphed, took Dementia gentlemanly by the hand, and went off with her and his brother, 5.0.5. scampering after them. Jeremy, Eggs, and Vincent looked at Scott with disbelief.

 

“You can’t be serious,” Jeremy stated firmly, but the question marks wavering above his eyes showed his doubt. “C-can you?”

 

“I am completely serious,” Scott replied warily, giving the smallest man a hug. He glanced at the other two security guards. “I’m trusting you guys to take care of each other. Check on Mike and Fritz often.” He swallowed roughly, paling slightly. “You… you guys should go.”

 

“B-But,” Eggs stuttered uncharacteristically. “Why? This is complete bs, don't get me wrong, Phone. I can tell when something is wrong, mate, and something is definitely wrong here.”

 

“Guys, it's hopeless,” Vincent sighed, trying to avoid looking Scott in the eye. “We… dammit, I hate to admit it, but he’s right. We should go.”

 

“Fine,” Eggs snapped, blinking back tears of anger. “Fine. If you get hurt, Scott, I… I don't know what I'll do. Something not pretty, that's for sure.”

 

“I'll be alright,” he replied with a wave of his right hand, to distract them from his left, crossed behind his back. “I promise.”

 

The car honked. Eggs stormed to it, Jeremy slowly following. He glanced back at Scott, keeping his feelings of dread at bay. Vincent looked at his crush in the eye, and was surprised to see the barely disguised fear. Vincent left, but felt worried. Scott was never scared.

 

Scott, one hand in his pocket, waved at the retreating car. As soon as it was out of sight, his hand dropped to his side lamely. He focused on his breathing even as he heard soft footsteps coming up from behind him. The click of the gun made him falter in his façade of cool and collected. 

 

“Heh, you always were a wimp,” William chuckled, pressing the revolver to the base of Scott's head. “Sending your friends away so they won't see you die.”

 

“I… I have a deal for you,” Scott admitted, swallowing back bile. “If you'll listen.”

 

“You rejected my offer,” he snarled back, jamming the gun roughly against his neck, trying to elicit a sound of pain from the taller man, growling and hitting him again when he failed. “What's your deal, Scotty boy? It better be a good one.”

 

“I'll tell you where Sammy is,” he forced, detesting the words coming from his own mouth. “If you promise not to hurt my family, or him.”

 

“I knew it,” William hissed, adjusting his grim grip on the weapon, pushing it harder against Scott's neck. “I knew it. You knew where that little s*** was the whole time, didn't you? Answer me.”

 

“Yes,” he sighed quietly, barely breathing the affirming word. He had a sudden vision of a tombstone, marked with his own name. “I know where he is. I always have. I even talk to him regularly. He's a good kid.”

 

“Why doesn't Henry have your head on a spit yet?” ‘Dave’ demanded with rage. “You lose his only son for fifteen years, only for it to turn out you knew where he was the whole time?!”

 

“Because Henry knows as well.”

 

“W-What?!” Afton stiffened. “That makes no sense!”

 

“He’s right, Dave,” Henry announced, stepping out of his car. He glanced at Scott's shocked expression and shrugged. “Michael told me where you were. Hey, are you aware he's cheating on your sister with that new punk like pink haired girl?”

 

“Mike and Scout have an open relationship, at least while Scout is still in school in Alaska,” Scott replied, albeit a little uncomfortable, especially about the topic and situation in general. “Thanks for coming… I guess? How did you know to come, anyways? Mike might’ve told you where I was, but how did you know to come?”

 

“Had a feeling,” he shrugged, then flashed a grin and a wink. He pulled from the passenger seat a fold out chair and plopped down in it. He cracked open a beer and chugged half of it. He motioned for the other two to join him. “Sit, c'mon.”

 

“Alright,” William begrudgingly said, lowering the gun. Scott deflated with relief. Dave sat in the passenger seat, so Scott sat on the ground. Henry tossed Will a beer, and offered one to Scott, who refused. William took a swig. “Whaddya want, Henry? You're my best friend, so ya better be smart with your words. I don't want there to be a double homicide on my case.”

 

“Dot dot dot,” Scott said, but not literally. More like comic book speech. Henry gave him a knowing look. He cleared his throat. “Sammy is in a place Henry and I know of, but in a place that you are not aware that he is in.”

 

“Exactly,” Henry grinned. William scowled. Scott did nothing. “And, by the by, along a similar line, a certain thing that you and I are aware of, but an item that Scott doesn't know about, is with me.”

 

“You wouldn't dare,” William roared, leaping to his feet with narrowed eyes. Henry took a slow, humorous sip from his can of beer, looking over at him from the metallic brim. Dave blinked, then sat back down. “W-would you?”

 

“I'm going to, actually, and right now,” he answered cheerily. William glared through his soul. “Yes. I will do it. Right this very minute.”

 

He turned to face Scott. A devilish grin hid behind his orange beard. Scott was nervous all of a sudden, though used to his boss’s usual joyous mood, this new snicker from the Great Demon’s doorstep itself was a little more than lightly disconcerting. He swallowed roughly.

 

“You will not and c-cannot give a third t-to… to HIM!” William sputtered in an incredulous rage. Henry merely tilted his head as a joke. “I-I’m serious here, Flittar!”

 

“And I’m also very serious in this sincere situation as well, Afton,” he replied calmly, then took a paper out of his briefcase. Dave stared at it in wonder and anger. “I had hidden it inside one of the left arm hatches of the Golden Freddy suit. It, uh, might have a little bit of blood on it from Scott.”

 

“I… I’m not sure I follow what you're getting at, sir,” Scott mumbled. Henry rolled his eyes and passed him the slip of paper. Scott ignored Dave’s angry glare as he read the document, eye widening when he reached the ending. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“I am.”

 

“But… this makes no sense!” Scott protested weakly, trying to make Henry take back the confounding paper. William looked at it as though his gaze alone could destroy it. “My mother said that she lost her deed, along with her Spring Chika suit!”

 

“She did not,” William said dully, as though he had just realized with a jolt this was a fight that he couldn’t win. “She gave it to Henry for safe keeping. To keep it away from me.”

 

“And you should read things more carefully,” Henry chuckled. “That’s not your mom the deed is referring to. S. Cawthon isn't Samantha. It’s Scott, as it talks about the pizza recipe. You made it, not your mom.”

 

“I… I did,” Scott acknowledged, still confused slightly, then realization dawned on him. “So… does that mean… I own a third of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria?! What the heck?! Why didn’t my mom tell me?! Why didn’t  _ you  _ tell me?! What the s***?!”

 

“I didn’t tell you because your dad asked me not to,” Henry replied quietly. There was none of the usual mirth in his voice, in fact, he seemed upset. “I spoke to your mother after… he passed. She told me it would be better to wait for a bit, when you were ready. Due to recent events, I thought now was the perfect time. Turns out, I was right.”

 

“Ya d*mn right you were,” William said grouchily, nursing his beer before he took a swing from it. “I didn’t want Scott to know ‘cause, well, he’s just a kid. He shouldn’t be involved.”

 

“You know as well as I that he is a fully capable adult, just as you and me,” Henry cut in sternly. “He’s been with Fazbear’s since we opened. He saved Baby from, well, Baby, at the sister location. He puts up with Vincent, Mike, and Eggs everyday. He handles orders, animatronics, customers, keeps Fritz from killing himself with his gadgets, protects Jeremy, and knows how to get around. He is capable of simply running the Pizzeria. He’s worked on minimum wage for far too long, and it’s time to give him the right check. I know you’ve been holding back on him. I’ve seen the records. You’re blackmailing him, and now I’m blackmailing you.”

 

“You sonofab*tch!” Dave roared, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed, eyebrows forming a sharp ‘v’. “We’re a team! Not you make your decisions and I go with them!”

 

“Nor can you attempt to murder my son without asking,” Henry retorted, still as calm as a lake in spring time. “We’re a team, right? You can’t just make a vile decision and act upon it, especially when you know it would harm me most of all. The only thing that I was glad about that day was how I left Scott at the register. He saw what you did, and rescued Sammy from the springlock suit. He brought Sammy, dying, to me. He gave me an offer that would give the three of us, him, Sammy, and I, total anonymity. I eagerly accepted, and so, you still think that Sammy managed to escape alone and ran away. But no. I know exactly where he is, as does Scott. I only feel pain for Charlie, who does not know that her own twin is alive and well.”

 

“WHERE IS HE, THEN?!” William screamed, the main vein in his neck throbbing and horrific. He pressed the gun against Scott’s temple again, gripping his red hair to keep him from moving. “TELL ME, NOW, OR I SHOOT HIM!”

 

“I’m right here,” a young man’s voice, forced to be straight, said. Scott stared at Henry in terror and awe. “Now let Uncle Scott go.”

 

“S-Scott?” a female voice, trembling, whispered. “Scott, what’s going on? Didn’t you call me?”

 

“What? No!” Scott grit his teeth, maintaining eye contact with  _ his _ twin sister. “Scout, take Sammy and go.”

 

“They’re not going anywhere,” Henry stated powerfully, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. He looked similar to his father, but slightly lankier and with a clean shaven face. “I called them.”

 

“But it was Scott’s voice I heard,” Scout retorted, hands on her hips, eyes searching. Her working eye at least. Her right eye was covered by a white glaze, blind from birth. “Explain that, Mr. Flittar.”

 

“Easy,” he chuckled, pulling out of his bag a recorder. He pressed a button. 

 

“Hello, hello?” it crackled in Scott’s voice. “Hi Scout.”

 

He grinned.

 

“Those… those are tapes off of my phone,” Scott jumbled, staring at the recording device. “How did you get them?”

 

“Eggs handed them in,” he grinned again, “I paid him quite a bit for them.”

 

“So,” William swallowed, trying to avoid yelling. “Scout was protecting Sammy. But who’s protecting you, Scott?”

 

The blood drained from his dark face. Dave grinned viciously.

 

“I'm afraid I don't follow,” he breathed, feeling his heart beat three times too fast. “I don't need to be protected.”

 

“Mhmm,” Afton rolled his eyes. “That's what you think. If I were you, I'd take better care of where I put my recordings. I'd definitely not leave them in the phone, where the next person on the shift would hear it. You sing well, by the way.”

 

“Michael…” Scott felt sick to his stomach, “oh f*** no.”

 

His phone rang.

 

“Yeah, so this operates the light, and underneath that, is the door switch,” Mike instructed, feeling both a little dumb and a little prideful. “When the animatronics come too close that you can't see them off camera, you check the light to see if they're in your blind spot. Bonnie the b*tch is usually first to go, then Chika, then Freddy. Foxy is the tricky one.”

 

“Alright,” Dementia nodded, taking in every detail of the small office. “I bet this place is terrifying at night.”

 

“Yup,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Nightmarical.”

 

5.0.5. let out a little whine. Dementia patted him. He smiled a little. After a bit of silence, the main power went out. Mike assured Dementia that that was completely normal, and she and nothing to be worried about. They worked in silence. Hours ticked by, the painful death literally around the corner every moment. Leaping to slam the opposite door shut, peaking out the room to yank back and seal the door breathlessly as Foxy hammered on it. A phone call from Blake, just to check on them. Bonnie stared at them through the camera.

 

“Hey, Mike?” Dementia hesitantly said quietly, trying not to startle him. He nodded to signify he was listening. “Do you, uh, have a significant other? I know it's a weird question, but you seem like the type of guy most girls would fawn and swoon over.”

 

“I have a girlfriend.” Informative. 

 

“Oh.” Disappointed.

 

“We have an open relationship.” An attempt at closeness.

 

“Really?” Cautiously relieved,hiddenly joyous.

 

“Yes.” Half a truth. 

 

“Do you like me?” A start.

 

“…. Yes, I do. Do you, uh, like me?” A minute step forward, then a slide.

 

“You're attractive. I think I like you.” Rebalancement. Putting a shaking hand on a steady bar. 

 

“Do you… want to kiss?” A jump.

 

“Yes.” Caught.

 

Their eyes met. Their hands touched, and held onto one another. A very slow movement forward. Another, then a slight pull back. Determination. Steady and slow,ghosting each other's gentle movement. A meeting in the middle as they kissed.

 

It was short and careful, and ended almost as soon as it had begun. 5.0.5. looked on with an odd happiness. His flower seemed to grow a little.

 

“That was great,” Dementia giggled, blushing. Mike thought he loved that blush. It brought out her eyes and hair. “Did you like it?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied with a smile. “I loved it. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” she admitted, twirling a lock of her hair. “Do you wanna be my boyfriend?”

 

“Of course,” Mike answered, lighting up with happiness. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

 

“Duh,” she laughed again. Mike laughed too.

 

The phone rang.

 

“Your lab is awesome!” Fritz marveled, swinging his feet as he looked about like a child in a candy store. “All I've got at home is my old computer and a couple of spare parts I ‘borrowed’ from the pizzeria.”

 

“I'm glad you like it,” Dr. Flug answered emotionlessly on the surface, but brimmed with pride under his mask. “Took years to perfect. I really enjoy working for Black Hat. I have pretty much total freedom, except for the fact that I have to fill an invention quota of three inventions or upgrades a month.”

 

“My boss, Henry, is pretty chill, too,” Fritz shrugged, stuffing down his jealousy. “I don't like William though.”

 

“How does that work?” Flug asked, tossing him a monkey wrench. “Are they both your boss?”

 

“Yeah,” he replied, tightening a loose bolt on the bottom of a nuclear reactor. “They built Fazbear’s together. Scott had been there as well, right from the start, fifteen years ago.”

 

“How old was he when he started working there?” Blake asked from his perch on the window sill. “Relatively.”

 

“A little before he turned fifteen,” Fritz answered, glancing up before returning his attention to the machine he and Flug were working on. “There's a rumor that he made the pizza recipe itself.”

 

“How old is he now,” Dr. Slys questioned to himself, adjusting a wire and sealing a panel. “Thirty?”

 

“He's twenty nine,” Fritz informed him. “He was born December twenty first XXXX, at eleven fifty eight pm. His twin was born January first, at twelve o’ three. Five minutes apart, yet a whole year between them.”

 

“That's hilarious,” Blake grinned, then waved away Cam-bot, who was offering him a drink. “No, thank you.”

 

Fritz’s phone rang.

“Hey, Fritz,” Jeremy said into the phone, twisting the cord nervously. “You having fun?”

 

“Yup,” his voice cackled through the speaker. 

 

“Good ta hear, mate,” Eggs nodded. “Jerm’s been worried sick.”

 

“Have not!” he squeaked, and Vincent gave him a look. “Okay, maybe a little.”

 

“We tried calling Cawthon earlier,” Vincent added. “He didn't pick up.”

 

“Weird,” they heard Flug say. “He seems like the kind of person that doesn't let his phone ring twice.”

 

“He is,” Fritz said, sounding a little worried himself now. “Did anyone check on Mike, Dementia, and 5.0.5.?”

 

“Yeah,” Blake affirmed. “I called them a while ago.”

 

“Good,” Eggs sighed, rubbing his temple, then his stomach with a grimace. “Fookin’ h*ll, this period is awful. I'm going ta lie down.”

 

“Stay in the living room,” Vincent instructed. “Lay on the couch, I'll get your pillow and blanket.”

 

“Thanks, mate,” Eggs groaned, and curled up on the couch. “I want murder.”

 

“Dementia also has really bad periods,” Flug informed Eggs. “Sometimes she used to faint from the pain.”

 

“Not helpful, doc,” he replied through gritted teeth, gratefully accepting the chocolate Jeremy handed him. “I feel like I'm going to faint myself.”

 

“I said used to,” Flug reminded Eggs. “I made her a chocolate that virtually removes all pain.”

 

“Here,” Blake said through a dimensional rift, passing the bar to Jeremy, who gave it to Eggs. He nibbled on it as Vincent gave him his pillow and blanket. “Hope it makes you feel better.”

 

“Thank you,” Edward said quietly. 

 

“No problem,” both Vincent and Blake replied.

 

“I'm happy to see that we're already almost a family,” Jeremy smiled, but it faded slowly. “Um, Blake?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I am certain that you know we're very poor,” he began hesitantly. Both rooms quieted. “And Scott told me we won't be able to pay for our next month's rent and still afford food. So, uh, do you think we can move in with you guys?”

 

Silence. 

 

“Black Hat?” Flug asked softly. “Are you alright? Are you… crying? Jefe, are you ok?”

 

“I'm fine,” he cried softly. “I just feel terrible. Here I am, living in a mansion, with limos and yachts, and I live comfortably, while the brother, my only brother, whose life I ruined, lives in an apartment he can barely afford, even with his friends help, and can't even buy food. I feel like such a jerk!”

 

“It's not your fault,” Vincent muttered looking at his shoes. “If it's anyone's fault, it's my dad's. He shouldn't have made those robots so deadly and dangerous. He should've listened to Henry and Scott.”

 

“Maybe,” Blake continued sadly. “But I should have reached out rather than avoided the situation.”

 

“Does that mean you'll let us in?” Eggs asked hopefully. Black Hat laughed tearfully. “I'll take that as a yes.”

 

“Definitely,” Fritz chuckled. “Flug looks terrified.”

 

“Obviously,” the doctor hysterically shouted. “Blake is crying, and we're having six people moving in. Give me two weeks to get everything arranged, alright?!”

 

“Fine, fine,” Vincent huffed, but looked relieved. “At least we'll be able to sleep somewhere in a month, instead of the street.”

 

“Thank you so much, Blake,” Fritz said with a small smile. “You don't know how much we needed this.”

 

“It's nothing,” he replied with a sniffle, rubbing his eyes. “I just hope it'll make things a little bit better between me and Mike.”

 

“We all do,” Jeremy whispered, tightening his grip on a cup. “We all do.”

 

The phone rang.

  
  


“This makes no sense,” Mike breathed, in shock. He and Dementia were staring at the phone which had played a message mere moments before. “How could Will’ve blackmailed Scott?”

 

“No clue,” she replied with narrowed eyes. “But this explains why Scott snatched the phone from Fritz earlier.”

 

“That it does,” he said. “We have to tell the others.”

 

“We do, but when can we get out of here?” Dementia questioned thoughtfully. “Without dying, that is.”

 

“Hang on,” he thought aloud, looking quizzically at 5.0.5.. “How much do you think he looks like an animatronic?”

 

“He looks a little like Freddy, I guess,” she answered, slightly confused. “What are you thinking, Mike?”

 

“I have an idea,” he hesitantly said quietly. “But we're gonna have to act fast.”

 

A few minutes later, after Mike explained his plan, they put it in action. Dementia peaked out of the right door, flinching a little when she saw Chica, with a slack jaw staring at her.

 

“Hey,” she said strongly, despite feeling foolish for talking to the robot. “Are you a duck or a chicken?”

 

No reply. Dementia didn't expect one. 

 

“‘Cause you're actually really freakish,” she continued, smirking as she ignored her dread. “I never noticed how creepy you were before.”

 

Chika’s eyes narrowed almost humanly, seemingly in anger. Dementia took a anxious step back, halfway into the office.

 

“Do I have to provoke her again?” Dementia asked Mike quietly, barely breathing. “I really don't want to.”

 

“I don't think so,” he whispered back, checking the camera. “Nope. Hopefully this'll work… I've never tried before, but Scott told me it does.”

 

“How long has Scott worked here?” she muttered, clutching the tape Mike had given to her from the phone tightly to her chest. “Just for reassurance.”

 

“About fifteen years,” he mumbled, glancing at the left hall. He snapped back into the room and pulled Dementia to the floor. She looked surprised. Mike furrowed his eyebrows, because she wasn't unaware that this was part of the plan. So what surprised her? “What?”

 

“Fifteen f***ing years,” she whispered hoarsely, “this is hell, how did he do it?”

 

“I dunno,” he replied, then heard the rush of Foxy’s sprint. “But we're about to find out!”

 

Foxy ran into the open office, just as Chika came in as well, and his momentum carried him over the two people crouched on the floor, unwinding to crash into Chika. 

 

“Go go go!” Mike exclaimed as the robots clashed. He shoved 5.0.5. in front of them, and Bonnie stepped aside to let them pass, clearly fooled by the large blue bear. They dashed to the exit, hearts pounding as Mike fumbled with the lock. As soon as he managed to click the door open, they burst out, panting. Mike, hands above his knees, head lowered as he huffed breathlessly, pulled up slowly. Dementia was staring back into the pizza place, looking directly at Freddy, who still stood on the stage. Mike cleared his throat. “Call Blake, and I'll call Vincent. We have to let them know.”

 

Dementia nodded vigorously, clutching 5.0.5.’s furry paw. She pushed a button on her watch as Mike dialed on his flip phone Vincent’s number. They rang at the same time. They picked up at the same time.

 

“Hello?” Vincent and Blake said together on different lines. “Vincent / Blake is that you?”

 

“Technically yes, technically no,” Dementia giggled. “It's me, Mike, and 5.0.5.. Can you send Cam-bot to pick us up? It might be safer to spend tonight at the mansion.”

 

“Agreed,” Mike said, nodding once. “Can't leave anyone alone, it's not safe.”

 

“Okay,” Blake replied, then said something away from the phone. “I sent Cam-bot to pick you three up. Tell me more when you're here, at home. Stay safe, you guys. Love you.”

 

‘We'll try,’ 5.0.5. thought to himself hopefully. “Arroo.”

 

“You said it, buddy,” Vincent sighed. Blake had hung up. “Hey, Mike? If you see Scott, bring him home. I'm worried about him.”

 

“We all are,” Mike muttered, but felt his throat tighten. “L-Listen, about that… he is in danger.”

 

Silence.

 

“V-Vin? You still there?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah… I'm still here. Huh. Danger, you say?”

 

Mike swallowed roughly. He didn't want to tell Vincent the bad news, but if he didn't, who would? Dementia was frightened,and she was only putting on a brave face to keep 5.0.5. from freaking the f*** out. Hell, he was terrified himself. The terrible information that had been learned was a game changer, and introduced William as far more dangerous than Mike ever would have suspected him to be. Sure, he never really trusted the man, but he never crossed his mind to be a murderer, let alone a murderer of his business partner's son. It was scary, for lack of a better word. Almost horrifying, but with an ‘I should've known better’ attitude. He couldn't tell Vincent, yet he had to. There was no other way to be safe. They were family. And Mike Schmidt does and will do anything for his family.

 

“Mikey?”

 

He suddenly couldn't talk. Vincent sounded so worried, and Mike couldn't do it. He just couldn't bring himself to formulate the words that caught in his mouth. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't….

 

“William was the murderer,” Dementia butted in quickly, knowing that if she didn't act quickly, Mike might have a panic attack. Vincent was quiet. She thought she could hear Jeremy say, ‘Do you believe them? C-cause I… I do.’ Something felt lodged in her throat. “There's too much proof. Please, please, Vincent, listen to us. Scott's been blackmailed to keep you all safe, and he's definitely reaching a breaking point. He's losing his mind, and all he does is take care of you guys, aside from eat and sleep occasionally. He hasn't been taking his meds because he doesn't pay for his insurance, ‘cause he pays for Eggs’. His depression and anxiety is catching up to him, mentally and physically. William's blackmail is just taking a toll on him, but it's large. Please, Vincent, believe us. Please, do it for Scott.”

 

“Dammit… sh*t,” Vincent hissed, as though in pain. “Sh*t sh*t sh*t. I knew it. Dammit. I should have paid more attention. Ugh, I'm a f*ckin’ idiot. I know where Scott is. Guys, get over here with Cam-bot. Hurry.”

 

“Look!” Dementia called, pointing down the street. Not a moment later, Cam-bot pulled up.They rushed into the vehicle, and Dementia sat shot gun. “Go to Mike’s apartment, pronto. Expand car to hold five and 5.0.5., got it?”

 

The car embiggened as they rounded the corner in a drift, Mike suddenly finding himself an entire row away from Dementia. They screeched to a halt right before the three nightshift guards, Vincent holding Eggs.Jeremy slid in, outstretching his arms to take in the sleeping Edward, who was (un) surprisingly light. Mike jolted back when Vincent closed the door, not getting in the car.

 

“Go,” he commanded, but not without emotion. “Go. Get to Blake, I'm going to help Scott.”

 

“We can't just… just leave you here!” Jeremy protested, upset. He pulled Eggs closer to his chest, like he was his lifeline. “Y-Y-You're family… family. You, you know th-that, r-r-right?”

 

“I do,” Vincent admitted with a sad grin. “But Scott's family, too. And I'm not putting my family in danger while I save more family. C'mon, guys. I'll be back before lunch, I promise.”

 

“Do you swear?” Mike asked, mad but understanding. “If you don't, get in the freaking car.”

 

“I swear,” he replied without hesitation, holding both hands up. “And I swear that I'll have Scott with me, or so help me God, I will kill someone.”

 

“There's the Vincent we know and love to hate,” Eggs mumbled blearily before falling back into a restless sleep.

 

“Okay,” Jeremy sighed sadly. “Please stay safe. Come home, Vin. Please come home.”

 

He nodded and stood beneath a halo of a streetlamp, looking after the car as it moved from his sight. He turned away and ran. He ran, depending only on muscle memory and the thrum of his heart. He ran up the street, and sharply turned onto Henry’s pathway, and hastily knocked on the door. Charlie opened it and silently ushered him in after glancing about nervously. She pulled him into the living room, where there was a soft chatter. Two men and one woman looked up at the newcomer.

 

“Ah, Vincent,” Henry grinned. “So nice of you to join us. You remember Sammy, do you? You were around thirteen or fourteen when you saw him last.”

 

“Hello, future - brother - in - law,” Scout said, almost emotionlessly. Her head was lowered again, and she gripped her cup of streaming tea tightly. “If you're looking for Scott, get in line.”

 

“I don't understand,” Vincent muttered, pulling his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “Where is Scott? This makes no sense. He is rational and….”

 

“I know Uncle Scott,” Charlie said quietly, “and you're right,  this isn't like him.”

 

“I agree, Char,” Sammy nodded, seeming a little upset himself. “Uncle Scott thinks before he does. It's not like him to just tackle William into the lake.”

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention,” Henry said brightly in reply to Vincent’s horrified expression. “Scott shoved Dave into the lake, and they both vanished. We looked everywhere, but we couldn't find them.”

 

Vincent was silent again, thinking. He looked up with terror in his eyes, which sharply morphed into determination and anger. He nodded jerkily at all of the people in the room before abruptly turning and dashing out of the house. He quickly hot wired a nearby motorcycle and wheelied onto the road, tires squealing as he zoomed away. He only had one thing in mind, or rather, more precisely, one person. Scott. His flaming red hair. Sparkling golden brown critical eye. Snap corral quick sharp wit. Strong, muscled, toned body. Amazing dark build and complexion, scarred with pale streaks, that reminded Vincent of gold ore in beryl. Beautiful, sweet, kind, personality. Amazing voice. Scott Cawthon.  **His** Scott.

  
  


The break he yanked the bike into was awfully sloppy, but he couldn't care less. He jumped off the motorbike. He ran into the hallway of his old high school. He dashed down the path, but paused a moment by his locker. It was unused, as he changed the combination and never told anyone what he put it at. He slowed down as he crept down the hall. He looked for a sign he was right about this, and hoped desperately he was. He passed the bathroom and the janitor’s closet, but froze when he heard a very defined “SH*T!”

 

“Scott?!” he exclaimed, whipping around to pick the lock of the closet. “Scott, are you ok? Are you hurt? What happened?”

 

“I'm fine,” he replied, though muffled by the wooden door that swung open as Vincent picked the lock. Scott flew out, breathing heavily. He tripped over his own feet, yet continued to scramble away from the closet, feeling like the ninth grader he once was, who had been called ‘faggot’ and ‘freak’. But he suddenly stopped, and moved over to the purple guy. He gripped his arm. “Vincent. Are you alright, Vin? I hope you weren't worried about me, I can handle myself. I was so worried that you would get hurt, please tell me you weren't worried, I'm so sorry, oh, please tell me you're ok, Vinny, are you ok? I'm so sorry, I should've explained myself, but I couldn't, you need to be safe, I don't matter, are you ok?” He brushed up the hair from the speechless Vincent’s watering eyes. “Oh no, please don't cry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-”

 

“Stop talking,” Vincent instructed, pressing two fingers against Scott’s  soft, sweet, beautiful lips to quiet him. “I'm ok. But if anything had happened to you, I wouldn't’ve been.” He moved his hand to the back of Scott's  intelligent, witty, incredible head. “You need to understand that I love you in far more ways than one. I'm ok if you don't recuperate my romantic feelings toward you, but if you don't love me as family, then…” his hand brushed across Scott's  handsome, smooth, provocative hair, and his heart pounded. He ignored it, “I don't know what I'll do.”

 

“You are family, and I do love you,” Scott replied, looking down at Vincent in a non condescending manner. “I really do, a lot.”

  
Tears pricked Vincent’s eyes. He swiftly wrapped his arms around Scott, who let out a surprised squeak. He basically flung himself onto Scott's  toned, strong, comforting chest, tightening his embrace as he began to weep. He wasn't crying out of sadness, but from the intimacy of the situation. He cried harder when he felt Scott cautiously put his own  muscular, defined, kind arms around the slightly smaller man. Vincent couldn't help it. He wanted to kiss Scott, he wanted Scott so badly, but he wasn't going to force him into a relationship. Scott rocked with him, soothing him with his just presence. Vincent just wanted to be with him. Just the two of them, maybe also the other guards. Maybe Black Hat inc., too. The family, no, his family. That would be good. It would be absolutely perfect. Vincent felt himself drift off even as he clung to Scott. He forced himself to wake up, trying to keep the veil of sleep away. He looked up at Scott's  firm, wise, perfect face, then cuddled back into his chest. Breathing in… and out… in… and out…. The steady rise and fall of Scott's chest. Calm and steady. Up… and down… up… and down…. Gentle. Smooth. Timeless. Seconds pass, one at a time, yet still it was timeless. One… two… one… two… one… two…. His eyes fluttered, falling lower every time. Open… lowered… open… lowered… open… lowered…. A yawn of exhaustion, the stress of the day finally falling upon him. He felt himself being carried out of the school, set down in a car. The ride was gentle. The door opened, and he was aware of Scott slide in beside him. He pulled him over his chest, tightening his arms gently. Vincent snuggled over him, not caring that they were still in the car that Scott, brilliant, beautiful, Scott, probably stole. Vincent gazed up at him. His face was illuminated by the stars, the dark skin taking on a pale, glowing look. His eyes were closed, breathing even. Vincent’s breath caught in his throat. Scott's mouth was barely open, lips parted ever so slightly, tempting, ooh, so tempting… the primal urge to kiss, to bite, to take, it was there, and it was invading his senses, roughly and swiftly. Vincent swallowed the lump in his lungs and exhaled slowly. He was stronger than this. He could beat his desires. He sighed. He pulled himself up to press his lips to Scott's forehead. He lowered himself back onto Scott's chest, listening to his breathing and heartbeat as he faded to sleep under the stars that slowly, yet swiftly passed overhead in the firmament. Just in… and out… just in… and out… just in… and out….


End file.
